


From My Devil's Cup

by starkassembled



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, Gen, M/M, Murder Family, cult leader AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-09-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 02:19:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,748
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/894649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkassembled/pseuds/starkassembled
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cult Leader AU - Hannibal Lecter, former psychiatrist, claims to be Satan reborn and commands a cult of increasing numbers. He preaches the practice of self-realization and hedonism. The cult has yet to have been reported for any illegal practices but media speculation is increasing. When three teenage girls abandon their lives to join his group the FBI gets involved in the case. Who better to infiltrate a cult than a man that can empathize with them completely?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

 

 **SATAN AMONG US OR SOMETHING IN THE KOOL-AID?:** _TattleCrime investigates the Satan of Chesapeake_.

            For as long as there has been belief in deities, there have been those claiming to be; false prophets, snake oil salesmen, those cunning charlatans spreading any lies that benefit themselves. This age old formula for corrupting the meek and weak has worked for centuries, changing and evolving as the times pass. Just in the last several decades the rise in religious and doomsday cults has been steadily increasing. Some of these so called new religious movements are harmless to the general public, a small internal cycle of manipulation and theft between the leaders and the sheep. This, however, is not always the case.

            Horror stories of the events at Jonestown and the Branch Davidians continue to haunt as much as fascinate many of us. People like to pride themselves, thinking that they would never fall victim to such an obvious scheme. Lured in with socialism?  A god’s second coming? A freak occurrence such as a change in weather cycles will bring forth the end of the world? Who really knows what they could be susceptible to by these silver tongued, modern day shamans?

            The latest of these new age cults has slowly evolved from meager beginnings as a personal video diary on YouTube to a hundred plus strong and devoted cult. Attracting a diverse group ranging from young teenagers to elderly scholars and even, according to a source, a US Senator, this latest cult based near the Chesapeake Bay is unlike any of its better known contemporaries. What sets this cult apart is that this cult isn’t warning others of an impending apocalypse; they aren’t claiming to be the reincarnation of Jesus Christ (see Jesus Christ Super Aussie). No, this group claims their leader is actually Satan. That’s right, readers; the dark prince, Beelzebub, El Diablo himself.

            The Satan cult is the product of former Baltimore psychiatrist, Dr. Hannibal Lecter. The esteemed psychiatrist closed his practice nearly two years ago after his so called “awakening”. The former doctor believes he is the reincarnation of Satan. This isn’t a simple case of a group of practicing Satanists slaughtering a few chickens and lighting candles, this is a bourgeoning religious movement. This reborn Satan claims to be the misunderstood hero of the ancient texts, telling worshipers to embrace their true selves, to seek out their own pleasures, the consequences be damned.

            His message of self expression, discovery and quest for pleasure has found its perfect audience in the digital age. As of the writing of this article, the self proclaimed Lucifer averages ten thousand hits per video. His Facebook page has been liked by a hundred thousand and growing. Counter to the traditional religious teachings of being humble, forgoing earthly materials, giving to others; this cult teaches a message of being one’s own ruler, indulging one’s self in joys traditionally denied by moral codes.

            What’s so wrong with a little personal pleasure? Where does this line of do what you wish end? According to this message, a cult follower can do anything, absolutely _anything_ in the pursuit of their own pleasure.  Rob a bank, shoot up their workplace, leave a bomb in a subway station, slam their car through a school building, torch a church, smother their children; if it brings them joy, it is just.

            Little is known of the growing cult’s inner workings aside from what is shown in the weekly video “sermons” uploaded to their official YouTube channel (links provided at the bottom), and no official record of the cult committing atrocities has been reported. But is this on the horizon? Is this the next Jonestown? Will the members be willing to take their own lives, the lives of others, just to prove themselves worthy to their dark messiah? Should we be concerned about the possibility of a hundred thousand of these cold, selfish demon worshippers? You’ll have to judge for yourself.

( **PEEK INSIDE SATAN’S CULT… IF YOU DARE** : YouTube | Facebook | Twitter| Tumblr)

_Freddie Lounds,  
senior reporter_

**_DISCLAIMER:_ ** _THESE ARE THE PERSONAL OPINIONS OF THE REPORTER AND NOT MEANT TO REFLECT THE VIEWS OF TATTLECRIME.COM. SOURCES REFERENCED IN THE ARTICLE PRACTICE THEIR RIGHT TO ANONYMITY FOR SAFETY REASONS._

* * *

 

           Hannibal Lecter’s intense maroon eyes scanned the article twice over on his tablet. No matter the overly simplistic definitions of his follower’s intentions, there was a sense of warmth deep in his stomach at his group reported on in the media. If there was any weakness of Lecter’s, it was his vanity. The man craved power, respect, and adoration. Even something as insignificant in the scope of things as a short article on a gossip site from the slums of the internet had pleased him. Soon enough he’d know the satisfaction of seeing his exploits reported on by the Los Angeles Times, the sanctified Washington Post, perhaps even the holy New York Times. Yes, that would suit Lecter’s plans just fine.

           He closed the tablet, growing tired of reading the article after a fifth time. It was almost perfect except for that insufferable Jonestown comparison. As if Lecter would be ignorant enough to have his killings brought to light, as if he’d order his followers to kill themselves, as if he’d be cowardly enough to take his _own_ life. He was far smarter than the pigs that would try and investigate him. His mind was too great to destroy with a bullet or toxins in his veins. He had something that none of these other pathetic excuses for religious sects had and that was pure, dark and unquestionable control.

           Lecter was never one to give in. The things he lost didn’t have claw marks as they were never really gone. Even those things no longer accessible in the flesh, the most important person in his life, all remained with him, safely and lovingly catalogued within the deep thresholds of his memory palace. There things remained constant, the way they were, the way he wished them to be. Bubbles blown through a silver bracelet, old songs sung by the lake, childish laughter, star shaped hands, beautiful stories told before bed. The most cherished memories in endless loop in his mind, available to him whenever he wished to draw upon them, however the purest of memories were the hardest to recount.

           The sensation of something wet pulled Lecter out of his daze. Unclenching his left hand he noticed four bloody crescent moons on his palm. He hummed, a deep, contemplative sound in the back of his throat. He had not ventured so deeply inside his palace for quite some time.

           There was a light pawing at his tailored trouser leg as a blonde, tousled head looked up to him with wide brown eyes of pure devotion, darting briefly between the eyes of their leader and the bloody marks on his palm.

           Georgia was one of his earliest followers, a clever girl and sweet in every sense. She had been homeless when they met, her mind ravaged by disease and neglect. She could have been just another statistic, another lost gem swallowed up by a cruel world. Lecter had been the one to get her the help she needed, nursing her to better health and embracing her, encouraging her to pursue her own interests. She would never regain her full mental faculties, part of her mind too ravaged by the disease that had nearly destroyed her, but she was happy and happiness was at the core of everything his group professed.

           She reached out with her scarred hand, taking his left hand and ran her thumb over the marks softly, smearing a red line down the center. She giggled softly, pleased with the line she made before grabbing his hand and pulled it to her mouth, desperately lapping up the blood.

           Lecter watched with amusement as she closed her eyes; a euphoric, almost spiritual look taking over her pale face as she drank him in. It was her desperation in the act that intrigued him. There was no way to truly interpret her actions. It could be some sort of symbolic ingestion of a powerful deity, an attempt to absorb some of the stability she longs for herself. It could also simply mean she liked the color and the taste of copper on her tongue.

           The girl finally pulled away, her wide smile accented by the smear of red along her bottom lip. Lecter reached out and touched her lip softly with his thumb before patting her head softly.

           “I trust you’re done.”

           Georgia nodded, not looking away from the man for a moment as he stood and towered above her.

           “Good. Go to the sitting room and tell Barney I’ll prepare dinner shortly.”

           The girl nodded again, rising to her feet as the bunched sleeves of her jacket fell down her arm, past her fingertips. Lecter had offered to buy her a new one in her appropriate size when she first came to him but the tattered old thing served as a comfort blanket, a memory of her old life and one she wasn’t yet ready to leave behind. He had allowed her keep it; the keepsake did not affect his complete control over her, and if it comforted her then there was no harm in her keeping it. The group was about happiness after all, one mustn’t forget that.

           He left his office, turning off the light and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt carefully and methodically as he made his way to the kitchen and opened the industrial size refrigerator. Taking stock of his cache of fresh cuts, he realized that another hunt would have to be planned and soon. Their food supply was depleting faster and faster as their numbers increased. Just this morning they had welcomed three new members into the fold, a group of young girls from some small town in West Virginia, desperate for guidance, desperate for approval, for someone to show them their true potential. The girls deserved something special for their first meal as with the group tonight. Lecter’s lips curled into a smirk as he lifted out two particularly beautiful cuts. Now then, he considered to himself, liver or heart?


	2. Chapter 2

            Jack Crawford didn’t sleep much, not since his wife’s passing six months ago. He’d lie awake most nights in their marital bed, staring up at the ceiling, breathing in the fading scent of his Bella’s perfume from her side. He never slept on her side of the bed, it remained neatly made and on the occasional drunken night he could almost convince himself that she was just pulling a late night at work, she would be home soon and crawling into bed beside him, warm and soft and alive.

            Some nights he’d blame himself, constantly thinking up reasons why she was gone. Things he should have done differently, things he should have changed about himself, even lingering thoughts on spirituality. What if he’d just gone to church more as a child? What if he dropped to his knees and prayed on the nights when her breathing was so faint? When the paranoid thoughts overwhelmed him, he’d sit back and take a breath and realize how truly selfish his thoughts were. Bella’s death had nothing to do with him and it was no one’s fault. The most terrible part of all of this wasn’t his loneliness, wasn’t his empty bed. The most terrible part of all of this is that cancer took one of the greatest souls from the world and there was nothing anyone could have done to change that.

            It was a welcome inconvenience when the shrill tones of his phone ringing pierced the dark existential crisis of his thoughts. He shook off the anger and guilt he felt, still as fresh as the day he had laid his Bella to rest and answered the phone.

            “Crawford speaking.”

            “Jack, hey, it’s Boyle. Remember? From the Dragon case.”

            “Oh…” Jack paused to run a hand over his chin, sitting up slightly. “Yeah, I remember. It’s been a few years.”

            “Yes, it has. I’m sorry about your wife, by the way. I just heard and-”

            “Its _fine_ , thank you,” he stated bluntly. Pity was a thing Jack had no use for. Pity wasn’t going to bring Bella back. “So, was this a catch up call at-” he glanced at the display on his phone, “-half past two in the morning?”

            “No, no, I’m calling for a favor. I…” There was a pause on the other end of the line, a sharp intake of breath. “It’s my niece, Jack. She’s gone missing.”

            Jack paused for a moment, schooling his voice to a slightly more considerate tone, “What happened? Kidnapping?”

            “No, not kidnapping. We think that she’s run away.”

            “I understand that this is a difficult time but you know better than I do to file a missing persons, Nick.”

            “It’s a bit more complicated than that. Look, will you help? You’ve got better resources than I do and I’m too close to this, Jack. I won’t be as objective as I need to be with this.”

            Jack sighed and got out of bed, keeping the phone to his ear as he walked downstairs to start a pot of coffee, “Tell me everything you know.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Jack slumped back in the chair of his office at the Federal Bureau of Investigations after getting off the phone with one of the girls’ mothers. This was no longer just a favor to an old friend; this was priority one and he had called in his best team for the job. It wasn’t unusual for the agents to get called in before dawn on a case and it was only another five minutes wait or so before he heard their footsteps echoing down the hall.

            “No, that’s not it. I’m just saying the theory of intermingling isn’t completely out of question…”

            Brian Zeller laughed, “So you seriously think what… there’s a possibility that we’re all players in some omnipotent kid’s videogame? Who’s the hero? You?”

            Jimmy Price continued on, “No, in theory, we would be the NPC’s, just a jumble of computer codes and pre-written dialogue.”

            “Gee, thanks for that terribly depressing Matrix comparison,” Beverly Katz said with a roll of her eyes as she pushed open the door to Crawford’s office.

            “I think Jack would be the hero. He’s got that stern look down. And he’s given quite the rousing motivational speeches in his day,” Brian smiled. Jimmy and Beverly shared a glance and nodded in agreement.

            “I don’t think I want to know what you three are talking about,” Jack sighed, exasperation clear in his voice as he rose from his desk and walked over to the bulletin board cluttered with clippings, surveillance video captures and scribbled notes. “Three girls are missing out of Hinton, West Virginia,” he pointed to yearbook photographs of the three young girls, “Cassie Boyle, Elise Nichols and Marissa Schurr, all close friends, all live near each other and all three are sophomores at Summers County High.”

            Beverly nodded and looked over the compilation of evidence on the board, “Do we have phone records? An estimated time they could have left?”

            “Schurr’s mother had gone upstairs to check on her daughter at about half past midnight. She called the other parents. The Nichols’s car was gone; we can assume the girls took the car to leave.”

            “Do we know where they could have gone?” Jimmy asked. “Any of them mention to their family or friends about wanting to leave or see some place new?”

            “They couldn’t recall.”

            “I’d check their computers first if they didn’t already take them with them. A bunch of teenage girls steal a car and run off? Bound to tweet about it or something,” Brian commented.

            Jack slipped on his coat, nodding towards the door as the rest of the team filed out, “Well, we’re headed there now. Let’s hope these girls left us some treasures behind.”

 

* * *

 

           

            Two hours later, Jack and the BAU team were seated at and around the dining room table in the Nichols’s kitchen. Mr. Nichols paced a small path back and forth between the counter and the head of the table as Mrs. Nichols tried to brush away her tears.

            “I know that this is a very difficult time for you both and I promise that we will do whatever it takes to find your daughter, but in order to do our jobs properly we need to know everything. No matter how insignificant a detail may be, it could be the key to help us find Elise and her friends,” Jack stated, looking at the worried parents.

            “She…” Mrs. Nichols started, wiping away another tear. “She started acting different in the past few months. I thought it wasn’t nothing to worry, she’s at that age where they all act out. I just thought maybe she’d got a boyfriend. I’m so stupid. Why didn’t I notice something was wrong?”

            Beverly rested her hand on Mrs. Nichols shoulder, “You’re not stupid. These situations will take anyone by surprise. What was it that changed with her?”

            “She was always on that damned computer,” Mr. Nichols spoke up, his fists clenched as his pacing stopped. “I told you to take it away from her. Goddamned internet melting her brain. It ain’t normal.”

            “So she spent a lot of time on her computer? Is it still here?” Brian stepped forward from the wall.

            “I don’t know, my kid’s gone, I wasn’t worrying about where her computer was,” Mr. Nichols stated bluntly, obviously upset.

            “Do you mind if my team and I take a look at her room? See if she’s left any clues to where she could have run to?” Jack looked at Mr. Nichols. Brian didn’t have quite the same level of professional sympathy that Beverly and Jack had mastered over the years. The key was to speak firmly but with a look of compassion. Some parents will break down in tears; others will lash out in anger. Grief takes people in many different ways.

            “Yeah, yeah… upstairs to the left,” Mr. Nichols said quietly, ignoring the agents to take a seat beside his wife. The bite in his voice was gone as he held her hands and whispered something quietly to her. Jack knew they could take as long as they needed searching the Elise’s room.

            Zeller and Price made it upstairs to Elise’s room first, setting down their kits and taking a look around. It looked like an average teenage girl’s room, messy bed, laundry basket half full by the door. Her walls covered in posters of bands and movies, some the two men had heard of, most they hadn’t. Brian spotted the older model desktop on her desk and sat down, turning it on as Jimmy continued to examine the other parts of the room.

            “You know, for a young girl running away, possibly forever, she didn’t actually take much with her. Look at her closet. She packed away, what, maybe clothes for a day or two? Strange…” Jimmy commented, noting that only a few hangers were without clothes.

            “Wherever she was going maybe she thought she’d get clothes there?” Beverly commented as she entered the room with Jack.

            “Maybe it’s a suicidal pact or something. Ever seen that movie Suicide Circle? A bunch of these schoolgirls jump in front of a train,” Brian commented cheerfully, waiting for the older system to boot up.

            “Do you have to sound so happy about teen suicide? Three girls are missing,” Jack fixed him with a look.

            “Alright, alright, just trying to lighten the mood,” Brian apologized with a wave of his hand. “Oh finally…” he tapped away at the computer, grateful that Elise hadn’t password protected her computer. The last thing they needed was another hour wasted calling in the tech guys. He pulled up her browser history; some of the usual social networking sites were present but… “Looks like she was a big fan of this guy’s YouTube channel. She checked it several times a day.”

            Beverly, Jimmy and Jack all crowded around the computer as he clicked the link and the video began to play.  The only thing visible at first was a red wall before a man entered in frame, the light shown on him from a high angle, casting a shadow over his eyes and making his sharp features appear almost skeletal.

            “Good evening, members,” the man in the video spoke in heavily accented English. “Today’s lesson: Save yourself, your life is your own to command.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Jack walked in time with Dr. Alana Bloom, accompanying her to her car after her consultation on the case. He needed a better way to get inside these girls minds and Dr. Bloom was one of the best consultants for the Bureau. It also helped that she didn’t get under his skin in the way that some of those psychiatrists do. He’d checked himself into therapy after Bella’s death but it didn’t help him, it just felt like the doctor was slowly roasting him over a fiery pit of his own grief and misery.

            “Thank you, for today. It was enlightening.”

            “You know I’ll always help, Jack. Anything to get those girls back home to their parents.”

            Jack nodded, falling silent again as he shoved his hands back into his pockets. It was obvious to Dr. Bloom that something was still bothering him.

            “Are you alright?” Jack didn’t respond, his mind playing back that footage of the so-called Satan of Chesapeake.

            “Jack? Jack, are you listening to me?”

            Crawford snapped out of his thoughts, “What? Yes, sorry. I’m just-It’s been a very long day.”

            “I know,” Alana looked at him with sadness in her blue eyes. Jack looked away; he didn’t need sympathy right now, he needed a way to get those girls out of harm’s way. “You’re thinking of how you can get to Chesapeake without triggering a massacre.”

            “Yes, obviously this is a very sensitive situation and something we weren’t planning on. This felt like just your basic runaway.”

            “There is a way you can get those girls back without inciting a riot.”

            Jack stopped walking and turned to look at her, “How?”

            Alana turned and looked up at him, “Have you ever heard of Will Graham?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so terribly sorry it took this long for an update. I just hit a major roadblock and couldn't get the words to come out the way I wanted. Just know that I have no plans on ditching this fic, I will finish it. Even if it takes me forever. 
> 
> thanks to Faby for being a patient beta.
> 
> Concrit is much appreciated. (and will likely help me figure out where to go if I get stuck again.)

            The sounds of a cello filled the room, clouding the air like light fog. It was one of Bach’s cello suites, warm and powerful and demanding. Whoever chose to listen to the piece had chosen well. The stereo in the sitting room was of exceptional quality and Lecter would have it no other way. He wouldn’t subject his ears and the ears of his flock to tinny, fuzzy feedback. One of the first renovations made to the old converted inn was to upgrade the sound system.

            Lecter descended the grand staircase, watching the three newest members as they talked with the others, joyous smiles on their faces. They were so young and pliable. With time he could shape the broken shards of their minds into grand swords, worthy of a place in his arsenal. But these girls were not meant to be weapons. They did not have the darkness within their hearts. In time he would influence them, they would serve him well, clean his messes and seek out other lost souls for him to feed on. But their destiny was never to be hunters, only gatherers.

            Lecter would protect the girls, house and feed and nurture them to the best of his ability. He had always taken care of the helpless. His doors were open to all, the mighty and the meek. All he asked in return was absolute faith and submission. His flock all readily accepted his terms.

            His work began several years ago from a dream. The dream was his revelation and shortly afterwards he posted the first video online, sharing his message with the world. It was a very simple message that all could understand. Morality is a social construct put in place to control; telling others to forgo morality, to embrace themselves, to seek out true happiness. With so many broken, miserable souls in the world it was no wonder his message rang out like a beacon of hope.

Tired of the monotony, tired of being abused, tired of being alone, tired of the misery and hopelessness that their lives were made up of, his flock came to him and within five months Lecter closed his psychiatric practice to focus on the needs of his followers. After a year of gatherings held in his home and office, his followers had grown too large for Baltimore. He used donations to move the group from Baltimore to an old converted inn just outside Chesapeake, Virginia. The ample space and more private location served as the perfect base of operations and more followers moved to the area each week, snatching up nearby homes and rental properties to be closer to their master.

Barney Matthews, a former orderly from the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane that Lecter had met during his days as a psychiatrist, ran the day to day operations of the main compound. He kept watch on the newest members and served as the ideal assistant, his calm reserve and easygoing nature was the perfect counter to Lecter’s intense presence.

Barney entered the sitting room from the kitchen and placed an arm on one of the girls’ shoulders, talking softly about something Lecter couldn’t quite catch from his place at the landing of the stairs. He walked forward and entered the room, several voices falling silent in reverence.

“Evening,” Hannibal addressed the room with a tilt of his head. A chorus of quiet greetings answered, several of his lambs bowed their heads, sweet Georgia falling to her knees from her spot on the couch in the corner. Lecter’s lips turned upwards into a small grin as he looked at his newest members.

“It’s an honor to be here, sir. Thank you for taking us in,” Marissa spoke quietly, being the bravest of the three. Her eyes were fixed on his nose, too nervous to meet his eyes just yet.

“We are all part of a family, understand?” he tilted Marissa’s chin up with his finger, forcing her to meet his eyes. The girl didn’t blink, didn’t speak, she just gazed into the endless dark held within him. “And families must take care of each other.”

Georgia clapped loudly, muttering the word family over and over as she rocked from her spot on the floor. Elise and Cassie looked up at their master, rendered just as silent as their friend by his presence.

Lecter smiled, baring his sharp, pointed teeth for a moment and let his hand fall away, “Have you all settled into your rooms?”

The three nodded, none looking away now, the realization that they were in his presence finally after months of longing.

“I am glad to hear it. If you’re ever in need of anything, Barney here will help you. I’ll leave you to look around and meet everyone,” he looked up and addressed the rest of the room. “Tonight’s service will be at six. I’ll see you all then.”

 

* * *

 

 

            One of the earlier converts was Inelle Corey. A kind, simple woman with a subconscious desire to seek out spiritual enlightenment; a former member of the Church of Christ, and briefly the Church of the Nazarene, the day she found Lecter’s sermons on the internet was the day she left her life behind and started following her master’s path.

            Pale and not in the greatest of health, she initially served the group in only a monetary capacity. Her cooking was not up to par and she got winded after cleaning several rooms. Where she really shined was in her ability to serve as a mother hen figure to younger converts. Sweet and relatable in her southern belle charm, she was another buffer to Lecter’s somewhat frosty exterior.

            Hannibal liked Inelle as he did the rest of his flock. She was a lamb in his charge, to be protected and guided along. Inelle, unlike most of his flock however, came with unforeseen baggage that Lecter could not ignore.

            Part of that life she left behind when following her master was a fiancé by the name of Frederick Chilton. Hannibal was well aware of the man, an insufferable and incompetent gnat he had the displeasure of working with in his previous life as a psychiatrist, the same Chilton that used to be Barney Matthew’s boss. Losing a trusted employee to a religious cult is one thing, but losing a fiancé to the same in a matter of days was too much for Mr. Chilton to bear.

            And so for the past year, much to Lecter’s ire, Mr. Chilton buzzed around the compound, doing all he could to try and win back the affections of his former love.

            Hannibal grit his teeth as the phone rang yet again from an increasingly desperate Chilton. He placed the phone off the hook and folded his hands, mulling over his thoughts on what to do. Dear Frederick had long since earned a space on Lecter’s dinner table, the increasing noise the pathetic pig insisted on making had forced Lecter’s hand. It just wouldn’t do to have him nosing around. No, it was time for Lecter to pay him a visit.

 

* * *

 

           

            Hannibal slipped away from the others after the night’s sermon. They wouldn’t notice his absence for some time, the main hall still abuzz with eager discussion over the night’s message. It was common for his lambs to gestate over his words, each finding their own sense of solace in his messages.

            He left a text for Barney, telling him that he was out on a hunt, Barney being one of the few lambs to know precisely what Lecter’s hunts meant. He would be back in a few hours and would need complete peace in the kitchen upon his return.

            It was easy for Lecter to find Chilton, the gnat had mailed an impressive stack of letters to his dear Inelle consistently for the past year, each passing letter taking an increasingly pathetic tone, even once going so far as to saying he’d sooner slit his own wrists than to be without her a night longer. The corner of Lecter’s mouth twitched, that could certainly be arranged.

            The last week of letter’s were all sent from a local motel, the kind of motel that got more traffic from drug dealers and ladies of the night hoping to turn a trick than from businessmen and families on holiday. Lecter reached the motel within minutes, pulling on gloves and carrying a bag of tools with him before walking up the stairs to Chilton’s room and knocked on the door.

            A teary eyed Chilton opened the door, judging from his state of undress and the smell of his hand at the door, it was likely that he’d been interrupted during a pitiful session of self love. What a pathetic swine, he probably used his own tears as lubrication.

            “D-Dr. Lecter?” Chilton stuttered, obviously shocked to see the man towering over him in the doorway. “Is… is this about Inelle? Has she agreed to talk with me? Oh, I knew she would… She just had to come to her senses is all.”

            The shell of a man turned around and retreated into the room, leaving the door open in a silent greeting for Hannibal. The man closed the door and locked it behind him, taking in the surroundings.

            “Is Inelle outside? In the car? I… I’ll convert if that’s what it ta-“

            Lecter grabbed the man, gripping his throat tightly, putting enough pressure on his trachea that he could hardly take in air.

            “Now, now, Chilton, that won’t be necessary. I’m afraid you don’t meet the requirements to be accepted into my family,” Chilton made a gargling sound, his pudgy fingers scrambling uselessly at Hannibal’s. “Not to worry, you’ll be coming back with me tonight. You wanted to be with Inelle forever, correct? The last thing I’d want to do is to keep two lovers like yourselves apart.”

            Chilton’s vision began to blur from the lack of oxygen, his fingers twitching desperately as his lungs were starved. A deep chuckle vibrated out from Lecter’s chest. He pulled Chilton around and looked at him with a sickening smile, pinpricks of red dancing over his iris.

            “Inelle will have you, body and soul,” were the last words Chilton heard.

            Lecter placed Chilton’s body on the floor of the room, opening his bag and retrieving a rug to wrap the body in for easy removal. He doubted that anyone would approach him as he left the room, people in motels this grungy kept to themselves, but at least the rug would provide an adequate cover.

            He made quick work of cleaning the room, the only evidence being a small hair fiber he plucked from the carpet with a pair of tweezers. Lecter closed the bag, slinging it over his shoulder before lifting Chilton’s body and exited the room.

            The mobile in his pocket buzzed after he set Chilton down in the backseat of his Bentley. Lecter closed the door and got in the passenger’s seat before checking his phone.

            _kitchen clear. need help?_

            Lecter quickly typed back his response before pocketing the phone and drove back to the compound, unobserved and undetected.

 

* * *

 

 

            The next evening the dining hall was abuzz with conversation. Light music played throughout the room, little lambs finding their seats at the grand table. Lecter had a few help with giving out the plates of food. He personally delivered a plate to Inelle, smiling back in an almost sinister fashion.

            He took his seat at the head of the table and addressed his flock, giving a small prayer, watching each head bow in reverence to him before clapping his hands and taking the first bite. The meat was beautifully prepared, perfectly seasoned. Truly, dear Frederick made a better appetizer than he did a person.

            Hannibal enjoyed the meal, watching Inelle slice into the beautiful dish comprised of her former beau, and felt at peace. The perfect world he’d crafted for himself was a dream; wealth and power and elegance. It’s a dream that’s incomplete. He wondered to himself what it would be like if the space beside him was taken by a beautiful, rosy cheeked, blonde woman with star shaped hands and an infectious smile.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks to zaffre for the vote of confidence and faabyy21 for the look over and suggestions.
> 
> title from Toxic by Britney Spears.
> 
> you can follow my blog starkassembled.tumblr.com for updates and writers block induced text posts of frustration complete with grumpy Gordon Ramsay gifs.
> 
> comments and criticism are welcome make me write faster. ;)


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